The Hunt Goes Ever On and On
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: This isn't the first time this scene has played out. Admittedly, the last time had happened more than a handful of centuries ago.


**A/N: Happy birthday, MegMarch1880!**

* * *

"So," Guy said. "Here we are again."

Here they were again. Out in the middle of the forest at the crossroads of an old dirt path while Guy pointed a crossbow at him.

Of course, last time they had been dressed rather differently, the crossbow had been made of wood instead of metal, and the sun hadn't been almost entirely blocked by a sickly yellow blanket of poisonous clouds, but you couldn't have everything.

Robin didn't even try to rise from his crouch next to the snare he'd been checking. The rabbit didn't look _too_ sickly. It was probably safe to eat.

Assuming he got the chance to bring it back to town.

"Hello, Guy," he said with forced cheer. "I'm guessing it's not of Gisborne anymore."

"It was, actually. Right up until Gisborne became a smoking crater, anyway . . . Hello, Robin. Still stealing from the rich?"

"There are no rich anymore." Not in any way that mattered.

"Sure there are. The rich are the ones that eat." He grinned. He was missing different teeth than he had been the first time. "The poor are the ones that die."

Robin's legs were starting to ache. With that arrow pointed at him, he didn't dare to try to stand.

"Aren't you even going to ask if the good Sheriff sent me after you?"

"Don't have to," Robin said easily. "I already know he didn't." The Sheriff was a man who believed in the law, and Robin hadn't actually broken any that the town now lived by.

Some pre-Fall laws, sure. But no one cared about those anymore.

Besides, Robin and his returned Men - and Marian and Alan's young bride, couldn't forget them - were half the reason this town was still on the map with all their knowledge of the old days. The Sheriff couldn't do it alone, and he knew it.

 _"_ _Someone_ must have betrayed you for me to find you like this. Don't you want to know who before you die?"

"I know who," he said, shrugging. "You pulled a knife on Will, and he told you everything." His hand twitched nervously towards his ankle.

"And you still came out here without even your bow. Poor, stupid little Robin. I remember when you were clever."

"Bows take time to make," he said easily. "And that's only after you find the right wood, which, believe you me, takes _far_ more work than it used to. After that, I'll have to build all that muscle back up, since a longbow's a bit more work than your toy there, and it's just work, work, work. I simply haven't had the time. So, no. No bow, I'm afraid. I'm sure we could make some staffs easily enough, though, if you were looking for a rematch."

Guy laughed. "I'm looking for your head on a stick." He raised the crossbow.

Little John burst from his hiding spot and tackled him.

The shot went wild. Guy, in a move that frankly impressed Robin, managed to throw Little John off of him.

Robin fired.

The bullet hit Guy smack between the eyes. He didn't get up.

Robin slid the gun back into his ankle holster.

No bow. Just a little something smuggled home from the army.

"Will fed you that information on purpose, you idiot," he told the corpse wearily. There was something awful about killing a man twice.

Speaking of which, that really hadn't been the plan. He turned to John. "You're late. And you were were supposed to shoot him."

"Had to take care of some of his friends. Ran out of ammunition." John leaned down and picked up the bow. "This is nice," he said approvingly. "You want it?"

"All yours," Robin said. "Ammunition's getting to be a problem."

"Back to fletching our own arrows it is," John said cheerily. "Admit it. You've missed it."

"It won't be the same if I can't find any yew." But Robin was starting to relax. Guy was dead. John was not, as he'd been starting to fear. It would be alright.

John walked over and clapped him on the back. "Come on. Grab that rabbit, so we can get home before it gets dark. I promised Marian I'd get you back in one piece."

"Dangerous words."

"Haven't you heard? We're dangerous men. Cutthroat outlaws, wanted dead or alive."

"That was last time," Robin said. "We're respected members of the community now."

John laughed. "Yeah, right. I remember how long that lasted last time."

Robin grinned at him wryly. "Yes, well. This time, at least, there's very little chance of us getting bored."


End file.
